


All this bad blood here

by shield_maiden



Series: Harringrove [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Billy doesn't know how to use his words, Canon-Typical Violence, Homophobic Language, I've accepted that I'm going down with this trash ship so YOLO, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 22:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12591568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shield_maiden/pseuds/shield_maiden
Summary: If you asked Billy Hargrove exactly how he came to be standing in front of Steve Harrington’s huge ass house in the middle of the night, he’d tell you that he had absolutely no idea. It was only partly true, he’d been walking, desperate to get out of that cage of a house, away from his dad, away from Susan, Max. Away from every reminder that he was a huge fucking disappointment to them all.





	All this bad blood here

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from 'Bad Blood' by Bastille. Characters are not my own.  
> Based on an anonymous prompt from my tumblr asking for 'Billy heads to Steve's house. They have a huge argument and fight but it ends in a kiss.'  
> This is my first time writing M//, so there's that.

If you asked Billy Hargrove exactly _how_ he came to be standing in front of Steve Harrington’s huge ass house in the middle of the night, he’d tell you that he had absolutely no idea. It was only partly true, he’d been walking, desperate to get _out_ of that cage of a house, away from his dad, away from Susan, Max. Away from every reminder that he was a huge fucking disappointment to them all.

In preemptive dick move, his dad had fucking slashed his tires, rendering the car all but useless. It was like he knew, that his son would want to get in the car and just go, to speed aimlessly through the streets of Hawkins and let the wind stoke the burning fires of his rage as the night’s ‘argument’ played over and over in his head _(‘Fuckin’ faggot! Ruining our lives once wasn’t enough for you? You ungrateful piece of shit!’)_. Billy had of course, only found _that_ out after jumping out of his bedroom window, and crept around to the front of the house. And like hell he was gonna walk back through that front door.

So he’d started walking, ignoring the way his split lip stung and dribbled fresh blood as he chain-smoked his way past the glowing windows of their neighbours houses, trying to fight the urge to look inside and torture himself with the knowledge of what a family _should_ be like. But maybe he deserved to be tortured, to be reminded of what he _could_ have had, if he wasn’t the way he was. So he looked anyway, looked until his fists clenched and his chest burned from being engulfed in the flames of his own anger.

Walking to Harrington’s had never been part of the plan. He hadn’t even had any particular destination in mind. But then, out of the darkness, he’d spotted Harrington’s car in an otherwise empty driveway in front of the huge house, silent and empty aside from a single upstairs light. Looking at the huge house he again felt his anger burn brighter, his blood beginning to simmer in his veins. Fucking _Harrington_. Rich asshole who has it _so_ good in life. It wasn’t fucking fair.

He crushed the remains of his cigarette under his heel as he paced angrily in Harrington’s front yard, occasionally glancing up at the soft glow from the upstairs window as his anger roiled inside him.

He needed to hit _something_.

He stalked towards the door and rang the bell, jabbing harshly at the button with his thumb even as his other fist connected with Harrington’s front door. Finally he heard foot steps on the stairs and he braced himself, for something, as the door swung open. Harrington frowned at him, and for a second, Billy expected him to slam the door in his face. But to his surprise, the other boy just raised an eyebrow and allowed Billy over the threshold.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here, man?” Steve asked, nudging the door shut with his foot as he turned to look at Billy again, no doubt cataloguing the bloodied lip and fresh bruising beginning to bloom across his jaw. It was unsettling, being under such a scrutinising gaze, and Billy couldn’t help snarling on reflex and baring his blood slick teeth, trying to intimidate Steve into breaking eye contact first and definitely not answering the question. The tension in the small hallway was thick, and balanced on a knifes edge. Steve was still looking intently at him, like he was a puzzle to solve, his head tilted to one side like a fucking dog. Billy _really_ wanted to punch him (Or kiss him).

Anything to make Steve stop staring at him like that.

But suddenly his father’s voice was echoing in his head again _(‘Fuckin’ faggot! Ruining our lives once wasn’t enough for you? You ungrateful piece of shit!’)_ and he jerked himself back from that thought and forced himself to shrug lazily, finally breaking their eye contact. The fire inside him roaring was again.

“C’mon Harrington, do you make all your guests stand in the hallway for ten minutes having staring contests, or am I just _special_?” Finally with a shake of his head, Steve moved past him, down the hall to the kitchen, Billy followed behind him, his face twisting into a sneer as he took in the lavish decor of the Harrington home. ( _Christ_ , was that a fuckin’ fancy ass portrait on the wall?) They reached the kitchen and Billy leant casually against the counter, watching as Harrington opened the freezer and threw a bag of frozen peas and a dish towel in his general direction.

“For your face.” He said, as he shut the freezer only to open the fridge and re-emerge with two beers. Billy stared at the bag of frosty vegetables, his expression flickering between unreadable and confused. His face hurt and he could already feel the swelling and bruising coming to the surface, but he wasn’t some fuckin’ charity case. He didn’t need fuckin’ Steve Harrington to bandage his wounds. But christ his face _hurt_.

So he begrudgingly wrapped the dish towel around the bag of peas and pressed it to his jaw, wincing slightly at the tenderness, and reached out and took the offered beer from Harrington’s hand. They drank in silence, Steve leaning against the sink, Billy against the counter, frozen peas pressed to his face. Why the fuck was he here? What was he _thinking_? He shifted the peas to a new spot and let the cold seep into his skin, even as his anger burned away in his chest still.

Harrington put his beer down and looked at him again, with that same searching look of concern as before, and Billy felt his rage surge, threatening to burn him alive if he doesn’t explode first. “We gonna talk about this or not?” He asked, gesturing vaguely towards Billy’s face. “‘Bout why you look like you went a few round—“ Steve’s words die in his throat as Billy lunges for him, fists clenched and swinging, making contact with his jaw.

Somehow they end up full on wrestling on the floor in a tangle of limbs and punches until Steve is pinned beneath Billy, caged in by muscular arms. They’re both breathing hard, chests heaving from exertion. And then Billy is crashing his lips against Steve’s, and even more surprisingly, Steve is kissing Billy _back_. The kiss is harsh and tastes like beer mixed with the coppery tang of Billy’s own blood.

Then it’s over, and Billy is bolting out of the Harrington’s kitchen, out of the house, and into the cold dark night. He’d run from one kind of trouble, only to run straight into another. _Fuck._

**Author's Note:**

> Please come and visit me on tumblr @crimson--petrichor, I take prompts for various pairings and always love receiving requests!


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